Lady Guinevere and the Rogue with a Brogue - Julie Johnstone Page 0,16
to waste her breath arguing with Lilias. Her friend had loved Greybourne likely since the day she’d met him, and Guinevere feared that would remain her friend’s unfortunate state until her dying day, despite the fact that Greybourne had made it clear, in a letter no less, that he wanted her to forget him.
“Why did you miss the last SLAR meeting?” Guinevere asked, using the abbreviation they all did to refer to their secret society of ladies.
“Mother forced me to allow Lord Snyde to call.”
Guinevere bit her lip on encouraging Lilias to accept her neighbor’s obvious desire to court her. If she even dared to try to persuade Lilias, her friend would remind her of her own need to move on with her life, which she needed no reminder of nor was she in the mood to hear. Notes of the harp began to fill the ballroom, and couples formed on the dance floor. She suddenly wished Asher could see her dance now. She had been a dreadful dancer years before, all left feet and—Drat! She should not care if the man knew she was now quite an accomplished dancer, even if showing off her skill would make her feel good. It was silly.
“So, who is our target?” Lilias asked again.
“Lord Charolton.”
“Ahh.” Lilias drew the single word out in a knowing tone. “Lord Charlatan.”
“Just so,” Guinevere replied to the nickname they had given the lord. He’d gambled his fortune away two years prior, which everyone knew, and since then he’d twice tried to snare a poor, unsuspecting heiress to fill his coffers and bear the title of ill-fated wife.
“Who has the louse decided to try to seduce this Season?”
“Lady Constantine Colgate,” Guinevere answered, wishing for the hundredth time that her laces were not drawn so blasted tight.
“Hmm. I’ve not heard a whisper of that, nor seen a hint of it. How did you discover Charlatan’s newest nefarious plan?”
“Huntley mentioned it in passing,” Guinevere said.
Lilias’s eyes went wide. “Do you think your brother knows of SLAR?”
Guinevere shrugged. “I would think not. If he did, he would put a stop to it, but then again, Huntley can be so contrary. He’s terribly rigid, except when he’s not.”
They both laughed.
“Shall we find Lord Charolton or search out Lady Constantine and simply warn her?” Lilias mused.
“Let’s find Lady Constantine. She seems astute enough. I think a simple word to the wise will suffice.”
Guinevere began to scan the ballroom for Lady Constantine. She passed over men who wore dark formal attire twirling tittering ladies in lace and silk. She skirted around clusters of harmless young ladies and gossiping dowagers, and past eager marriage-minded mamas and their equally eager, in some cases, daughters.
And then her attention stalled on a small group of well-known unrepentant rogues. She blinked in surprise to see the Marquess of Kilgore in the group. His black hair blended with his black cravat and black attire. It had been an ages since she’d seen him, and she was glad of it. Every time she encountered the man in the past, he’d scandalously reminded her of the time he had kissed her without asking permission and that his invitation to sin still stood.
He was conversing with another man, who matched the tall rouge’s height perfectly, but she could not see that man’s face as his broad, muscular back was to her. Something about that back seemed oddly familiar. As she stared at it, Kilgore stopped midsentence and raised his eyebrows at her in wry amusement.
Suddenly, the man with the familiar back began to turn toward her, and she sucked in a sharp breath as Asher’s proud profile came into view. Strong jaw. Full lips. Aristocratic nose that looked like his father’s. She wagered he hated that perfect nose given the disdain he still seemed to hold for his sire.
“Guinnie, what is it?” Lilias asked. “Do you see Lord Charlatan?”
Guinevere could not talk. Asher, the scoundrel, had once again stolen her ability to speak like a sensible human being. The dark slash of his brows hitched ever so slightly and would likely have been unnoticeable to anyone but a woman who had once memorized every gesture he made.
He saw her. A devil-may-care smile slowly, deliciously tilted up the corners of his generous mouth, but then Kilgore said something and gestured toward her hiding place. Shock registered as the smile on Asher’s face disappeared, replaced by a menacing scowl.
Whatever had Kilgore said to make him so angry, and why the devil must Asher be here and